


The Unexpected Guest

by cortchuzska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: An old friend comes visit the newly married couple.





	

After a range of fiancées, from batshit crazy Joffrey, to Sandor, a thug with a love for violence, to soft-spoken Petyr, who had used her as an unwitting pawn in she didn't care to know how many plots, to the last one, Ramsay, every bit a manipulative violent batshit crazy bastard, Sansa finally settled with Willas Tyrell.

The formerly overlooked eldest brother of her best friend Margaery, despite age difference, or maybe because of it, was just the considerate husband all parents would wish their daughter, and an old-fashioned country gentleman through and through, with his tweeds, the discreet tick-tocking of his cane, his fondness for hounds and horses, and a well-manicured garden surrounding his manor.

After six months of perfectly happy marriage, Sansa Stark felt she had explored every shade of dutifully boring, in and out of bed.

\--o--

“Would you have the yellow guest room readied, dear? An old friend of mine is coming to visit: the new foals, you see. We share an interest in fine horseflesh...” Willas held her hands with unusual warmth. “I have been knowing him since forever; you will like him, I hope.”

“Does he love gardening too?” Sansa remembered a pleasant afternoon in the glasshouse with doddering Lord Grandison, whose interest for roses was second only to his passion for dogs. Pity their conversation about the rare blue variety she was trying to acclimate was suddenly cut through by his snoring, as he fell asleep over supper. To the date, the most exciting of her husband's acquaintances.

“I fear not. His elder brother's estate was featured in the Garden May issue though; I visited him there a couple of times.”

An old bachelor who lived with his brother, and could only talk horses, more boring than old Grandison. Nonetheless, dutiful wife as she was, when Margaery and her formidable grandmother came over for tea, she made sure to ask them how to best welcome what she supposed a family friend of old, since Willas was so keen about his next arrival.

“What about sprinkling his bedsheets with tacks?” Margaery put forth cheerfully.

“Scorpions would better serve, or any kind of poisonous reptiles you have at hand. Why on earth does your husband breed hapless puppies, instead of keeping a terrarium, I wonder?”

“Willas is fond of him, I can't imagine him being anything but courteous.” Sansa countered.

“My brother is too kind-hearted for his own good, Sansa.”

“Once I hoped Will would not turn out a fool like your father and grandfather.” Lady Olenna put down her teacup and turned to Sansa. “If you want to know the man's true colours, have you ever heard of the Volanteene scandal, my dear? Quite the story, best left for anoher time; Willas should be back anytime soon and I would rather not impose on you: newlyweds have better ado than gossiping with old ladies and silly girls.”

She asked him about it later on.

“Don't heed them, I heard rumours, but whatever it was it happened some time before I was born.” Willas answered her doubts. “Margaery is only jealous there is someone so close to me, and I won't hide from you granny can be sharp-tongued.”

“I am sure Lady Olenna can relate the most outrageous stories about many who turned into sedate gentlemen after a roguish youth.” Sansa pleasantly agreed.

\--o--

Was a foreign drawl all she needed to forsake her vows?

In his day his notoriety had been worse than those of all Sansa's intendeds summed up; he was just the sort she had fallen for before, to her bitter regret.

She knew by the end of his stay she would again, and hated herself for it. Willas Tyrell was the one man who had been kind to her, the one who had never used her to his own ends, who was even shy to ask her... She felt safe with him, for the first time in her life, and by rights that should weight more than any lack of burning passion.

She resorted to Arya as the keeper of her virtue; her bratty little sister had poorly disguised her feelings for Sansa's suitors, to the point of breaking a stick on Joffrey's back and engaging in fights with Sandor. Her reaction to him – or rather to his shiny vintage motorbike – could only be described as abject adoration.

Arya made her softest puppy eyes, could he take her for a ride please, and could she call her boyfriend too, and how many mph, and she would be his slave forever, pretty please?

Having him around in skin-tight black leathers wasn't helping.

No one had the right to look that hot.

Not at his age, less a friend of her husband. Since when had people stopped rounding along the years? There was nothing round about him; he was all sharpness and hard angles.

She was determined to avoid him, especially at breakfast. When he slid the knife blunt side over a peach and peeled off its skin without a drop of juice, she couldn't help imagine the same fingers on her bare skin, peeling her out of her sheer nightgown, and only thinking of how he parted and ate a fig sent a warm rush to her nether parts.

So, when she chanced upon him at the morning table on the shaded terrace overlooking the gardens, Sansa's favourite place where she had forgotten a book the day before, and with manners as impeccable as Willas's he greeted her and offered to join him, she steeled herself and demurred.

“If not the table now, would you consider joining my bed tonight?”

“How dare you?” Sansa bristled: he had noticed she tried her best not to cross path with him, and now he was taking advantage of her. “I will never do anything behind my husband's back, and in his own house ro boot.”

“You are the dutiful, honourable type, of course.” He went on spreading cottage cheese on his toasted bread with long, smooth even, methodical strokes. “Willas says so.”

“You have no shame at all.” His blithe nonchalance incensed her, and she felt even more offended on her husband's behalf than for the assumptions about herself. “He even considers you a close friend.”

“The closest, I like to believe: that's why I am asking.” He chewed a morsel, then added a swirl of gooey honey to his bread. “How long have you been married? About six months, I was told: you might have gathered Willas is not the most adventurous, whenever left to his own devices. With all you went through, he is still afraid of being pushy, and it would take him ages to suggest a threesome.”


End file.
